Pleasure to Meet You
by Chelbi
Summary: Maybe someday, I can say that and mean it." Drabble. Draco Malfoy's POV, no pairing.


A/N: Hey everyone, it's me again. Haven't written a Harry Potter fic in a while, but I got inspired tonight. xD I'm really quite pleased with how this came out. It's in Draco's point of view, if you can't tell, in which case I would have to point you to a mental facility. ^_^ Enjoy!

Pleasure to Meet You

I don't know her name.

I don't even know her name, and yet her hands are in my hair, her waist is in my arms, and her lips are pressed eagerly against mine. She doesn't seem to care that I don't know her name, because she knows mine.

"Draco."

She keeps saying it. Every time we have to break apart, she repeats it, like somehow I'll miraculously be able to respond with whatever the hell her name is. Maybe she keeps saying it to fill the gaps where her name should be. Maybe she just means it.

Maybe I should stop thinking so much when I'm in the middle of snogging someone.

I never used to. It was fun in the beginning, when it first started happening. The girls would throw themselves at me, I'd play with them a bit, and then choose one of them to be my entertainment for the night. And none of them ever minded, because they knew I'd get around to all of them eventually. Looking back, I'm surprised none of them cared about _that_.

Actually, no I'm not. I'm not surprised at all that they didn't care they were only "Number 34" or "Wednesday Girl" to me, because I was and am the great Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fame and fortune. I barely had to introduce myself then. It was always, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Draco. I'm--" at which point I would stop paying attention and start focusing on what they looked like.

Suddenly my sense of balance shifts and I jerk from my thoughts just long enough to realize that we're not standing up anymore. "Ooh, Draco..." the girl murmurs, face flushed against the deep green fabric of the couch. She has brown hair, kind of a caramel colour, and her eyes are a deeper brown.

I could have sworn she was blonde.

The fact that I was able to satisfactorily continue the snogging while being completely preoccupied by something else both impressed and bothered me. On the one hand, who else has that kind of talent? I mean, really. But on the other, it means I'm just going through the motions.

A kiss here, touch there, pause for response, kiss again...

It was almost mechanical to me now. Just a set of instructions for my subconscious to follow while I thought about things far away from caramel hair and brown eyes. If that was the case, what was the point? I wasn't getting any pleasure out of it, I wasn't getting anything out of it other than another girl to chase me around for a week before she realizes I don't and never did care about her. And then her brown eyes will fill with tears, and she'll run away, pretending like she wishes it hadn't happened.

Just like all the others.

I try to think back for a moment. Do I even remember the others? Can I remember the first girl that I picked, or the second, or the third? Will one name ever register with the right face in my mind, or will they all remain nameless and faceless, heads on top of bodies whose defining characteristic is that they're female?

I pull back, my first conscious move in at least five minutes. She's confused, and as such her hand continues to hold onto my tie, forcing me to stay semi-close to her or choke myself. "Draco?" she asks tentatively, trying to appear concerned underneath the obvious arousal. "A-are you okay?"

"No," I answer evenly. I reach up and pry her fingers off the cloth around my neck, dropping her hand back to the couch and standing up. I glance back down at her, and she hasn't moved an inch. She's still lying there, mouth hanging open in confusion and hair chaotic around her face, as she tries to process what she's done wrong.

I do nothing further to elaborate, so she's left to guess. Finally she sits up and fiddles with her hands in her lap. "Is... is it me?" she asks. "Have I done something wrong?"

I hesitate, fixing my tie to buy myself more time. "No, you haven't."

But I have.

What would it be like, I wonder, to be able to respond to my name with another? To hear the name and match it instantly with a face, and vice-versa? To have a girl who was something more than a warm body under mine?

Before I've thought of the answer, I stride toward the door. The girl panics, of course, and immediately says, "Draco?"

I stop with the door open and one foot through it. Abruptly, I turn around and ask, "What's your name?"

She blinks, not seeming to understand the question. "M-my name?"

"Yes, your name. What is it?"

"Cecilia... My name is Cecilia."

"Cecilia," I repeat. Just before the door closes on her shocked expression, I add, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Maybe someday, I can say that and mean it.


End file.
